


just give me a try, been kinda hoping you might

by writtendlessly



Category: Sorted (Website) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Lying about stupid shit, M/M, Mike is a bisexual disaster, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 15:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18144218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writtendlessly/pseuds/writtendlessly
Summary: Mike works the bar at the pub he runs with Barry, Jamie and Ben. One day, a handsome man comes in and Mike really can't deny him anything.





	just give me a try, been kinda hoping you might

**Author's Note:**

> I started this awhile ago, fell head first into another fandom, and then was randomly inspired to just finish it. Enjoy!

When James walks into the small pub Mike works at, all he can think is _what a tall glass of water_. He kind of hates himself for it, but puns were the name of the game at Worth a Shot so he can forgive himself this one time. He doesn’t know James’ name yet, of course, but he is determined to find out. Guys who go to bars at 7pm on a Tuesday night aren’t normally his type, but never has a weekday customer been so handsome.

James chooses a stool a few feet away from where Mike is idly wiping down glasses, and Mike is already putting the glass down and walking over before he realizes what he’s doing. There are only a few other people seated at the bar, so Mike couldn’t avoid him for long, but he could have used at least a few minutes to think of something witty to say.

Instead, he reaches the man and asks, “Come here often?”

James looks a bit surprised at the question, looking up from where he was perusing a small stand-up menu with their daily specials. Under the intensity of his eyes, Mike backpedals, “I mean, obviously you don’t. I work here and I haven’t seen you before. Not that I keep track of everyone who comes here.”

James starts to smile.

“I just— What can I get you?” Mike finally remembers his actual job as a bartender and starts fiddling around with bottles and cocktail napkins.

“What do you recommend?” James says, and Mike nearly swoons at his voice. James looks at him expectantly and Mike is once again faced with the fact that he isn’t actually a trained bartender and can’t recommend a single thing.

The bar wasn’t his first choice when Barry suggested he come work for the pub he had set up with Jamie, but the kitchen had already been taken by Ben (rightfully so) and Mike was good at talking to people, so bar it was. He spent a lot of his free time googling recipes and experimenting with different combinations, so he wasn’t totally inexperienced. But nobody had ever asked for a recommendation before, so he was at a loss for words.

“Uh,” he says, starting to feel uncharacteristically flustered. “What do you like?”

James continues smiling at him and answers, “Maybe vodka? It’s been a long day.”

Mike laughs and feels himself calm down a bit. Vodka is easy, it goes with anything. Mike starts pulling out bottles and thinking, mumbling a bit to himself out loud. He tries to remember the things Ben told him about complimentary flavors but he never really listens when Ben goes on about chef-y things. He settles on a mix of tropical fruit juices, some grenadine, and a small bit of mint on top. (See? He _did_ learn something from Ben.)

He puts the drink down on a small napkin in front of the man and can’t help but smile, always excited to create something new. “Here you go.”

“Perfect,” James says, before he even takes a sip. He drinks some and smiles even wider. “What is it called?”

Mike is sure he didn’t create anything new and it probably already has a name, but his flirty nature comes out and he can’t help but reply, “I made it just for you. So maybe it should be named after you?”

James nods in agreement while taking another drink. “Ah, so we’ll call it Herbert.”

James manages to stay serious for all of ten seconds before the look on Mike’s face causes him to burst out laughing. “I’m joking, my name is James.”

Mike laughs as well and repeats the name, already feeling warm just by saying it. “James.”

“And you are?”

“Mike,” Mike leans against the bar and pretends he isn’t ignoring his other customers. “I’m Mike.”

“Well, Mike, keep making me drinks like this and I will definitely come here often,” James goes red but maintains a steady, confident tone. Mike probably goes a little red too, but he can’t respond because a group of women at the other side of the bar wave him over.

“Duty calls,” he says regretfully. By the time he manages to get away from the group, James is already gone.

 

 

 

The next time James comes in, it’s a week later and Mike has been so busy running the bar lately that he hasn’t had time to memorize any new recipes. Their other bartender had unexpectedly quit and so Mike has been there every single night for the last week. He’s making more tips than ever before, but he’s started to get exhausted.

James looks a bit tired as well as he chooses a stool much closer to Mike this time. He waits patiently for Mike to finish up the six different cocktails he was making for a group of friends at a nearby table. When he’s finally finished, Mike comes by, wiping the counter as he goes, and asks, “Another James special?”

James laughs, “Nah, I want to try something new again.”

Mike huffs a little in annoyance, “Are you _sure_ you don’t want something easy and simple?”

“I am not an easy man,” James fires back and if Mike wasn’t used to all the flirting he receives as a bartender, he might have been surprised.

Instead, he easily replies with, “Have a few drinks and then come tell me that again.”

“Seriously, though,” James smiles a bit sheepishly. “Just make me whatever you want, I don’t care.”

Mike grins at the offer. “Well how can I resist that? Be prepared for something really damn weird.”

“Let me be your guinea pig,” James shifts a little on the stool and Mike zeroes in on the way James’ arms flex in his well-fitting shirt. In an effort to stop himself from drooling, he starts grabbing any random bottle he sees and pouring them into a cocktail shaker.

He mixes about four different kinds of alcohol, as well as two fruit juices and some jalapeno slices, with some ice in the shaker and then pours it into a tall glass for James. He was pretty certain what he made was horrible, but James _did_ say whatever Mike wants.

James can’t hide the way his face scrunches up when he sniffs the drink, but he takes a large gulp anyway. Mike expects a spit take, but James swallows easily ( _don’t go there, Mike, you randy imbecile_ ), and looks thoughtful before he concludes, “That was shit.”

Mike bursts out laughing. “You asked for it!”

“Seriously, how is this place so popular if this is what you serve customers?”

“Not all customers,” Mike reminds him. “Only the special ones.” 

James scoffs and pushes the drink slightly away from him, frowning at just the memory of what it tasted like.

“Oh, come off it,” Mike says, grabbing the drink for himself. He pops a straw in it and takes a drink himself. He tries his hardest to remain impassive but when he tries to swallow the spicy and sour liquid, he gags. James laughs so hard he throws his head back and his eyes scrunch up in the cutest way. Not that Mike would consider him _cute_.

“Like you could do any better,” Mike whines, immediately dumping the drink down the sink and making a note that despite what Jamie says, jalapenos have no place in a bar.

“I think I could,” James answers, eyebrows raising slightly.

“Is that a challenge?” Mike knows he can’t actually let a customer behind the bar, even handsome customers who know how to provoke Mike’s competitive side, but he has an idea. “Fine, I’ll make the drink but you tell me what to do and we’ll see how good you are.”

James almost makes a comment about Mike following his commands, but he resists. Instead he starts listing ingredients to gather and once Mike has them all, he explains exactly how much and when to add them together. When Mike is finished, the drink is colorful (it even has _layers_ ) and smells amazing. He sticks two straws in it and puts the glass in front of James, “Ladies first.”

James pushes it a little back towards Mike, “Age before beauty.”

Mike smiles, the banter with this guy was _so_ good, and takes a small sip. Once the taste hits his tongue, he can’t resist taking an even bigger drink. There’s a lot of alcohol in it but you can’t taste it at all, and all the flavors work together perfectly.

He makes no comment and hands it back to James, who confidently takes a drink and then smirks at Mike, one eyebrow raised.

Mike puts his hands up in an expression of defeat. “Alright, fine, hot shot, you win this time.”

James’ smile turns slightly shy, “Good?”

“Incredible,” Mike says and then glancing over at a small group of waiting customers, he suddenly gets an idea. “Hey, are you looking for a job?”

James looks surprised, “Uh, yeah, actually, how did you—“

Mike shouts Barry’s name before James can finish and suddenly there is a man next to James.

“What’s up?” He asks, giving a strange kind of knowing smile to James. Mike just gestures vaguely in James’ direction and Barry looks confused.

“Is there a problem, sir?” Barry asks him, wondering what exactly Mike did this time. Mike wants to be offended at the unsaid accusation, but he _does_ cause trouble, so he stays quiet.

“Uh, no?” James glances between the two of them.

“He’s looking for a job,” Mike says and James starts turning red.

“I mean— I didn’t—“

“Yeah, sure, come talk to Jamie and you’re in,” Barry says, already starting to walk away in the direction of the Employees Only door.

James looks at Mike helplessly but follows anyway and Mike can’t help smiling for the rest of the night.

 

 

 

“You just hired some guy off the street because Mike said so?” Ben exclaims, his pitch slightly raised in his incredulity.

“In my defense, he made a really good cocktail,” Mike offers, barely glancing up from his phone at the others sitting around the table with him. Barry insists on having meetings before they open every Thursday, but normally they just shoot the shit for an hour. This time, there is actually business to discuss.

“Wait,” Barry says, his voice starting to rise in pitch too. “You told me to hire him based on a single cocktail?”

Mike looks up fully this time, grinning at Barry who looks more distraught by the second. “Well, I’ve only talked to him twice so I don’t know his other qualifications, but I’m sure they’re plentiful.”

Jamie nods silently. His resume was actually way too good for him to be working at their small place.

“ _You don’t know him?!_ ” Barry is halfway out of his chair at this point. “The only reason I listened to you was because I thought you were friends!”

“I mean, we’re not yet,” Mike wiggles his eyebrows.

“You hired some guy off the street because Mike is trying to get laid,” Ben adds, trying to stay annoyed when he really wants to laugh at the whole situation. Barry fully gets up and starts pacing around, hands on his head.

“He’s going to end up being a murderer or a thief and it’s all your fault,” Barry whines in Mike’s general direction, but Mike has already moved on and is scrolling through recipes on his phone again.

The rest of the meeting is spent with Barry lying dramatically across a booth seat in despair while Jamie and Ben discuss menu changes and Mike plots his next step in seducing James.

 

 

 

The next time Mike sees James, Mike is too busy eating the delicious meal Ben gave him to notice the other man at first. James had come in a few times during the day to train with Barry, which mostly consisted of Barry grilling him and James making them both drinks, but his first real shift was a busy Friday night with Mike at the bar with him. If James was intimidated or nervous, he didn’t let it show.

But Mike is too distracted with Ben’s latest kitchen experiment to even acknowledge James, and thus he nearly chokes when James says hello. James, of course, looks stunning, even in the ugly green aprons Ben insisted they all wear behind the bar. He smiles easily at Mike and then, noticing his food, says, “Wow, that looks good. Did you make it yourself?”

Mike, against all rational judgement, answers, “Yes.”

James looks surprised, “I didn’t know you could cook! That’s a really great chiffonade.”

Mike feels himself start to panic. Why the hell would he claim to have made something that Ben, _a professional chef_ , made? Why would he choose now of all times to lie? He should just fess up now, before he makes a real idiot of himse—

“Thanks, it’s homemade,” Mike blurts out. He stuffs another bite into his mouth, not even really tasting it at this point, just to buy himself some time.

James raises his eyebrows and Mike assumes that he’s impressed, so he continues, “Store-bought is just not the same, y’know?”

James chuckles a little bit, “Of course.” He looks contemplative for a moment before he asks, “Can you make beef bourguignon?”

Mike almost swoons at the way James voice sounds when he pronounces the… _Italian? French?_ words. James looks at him with a small smile and at this point Mike knows he is well and truly fucked, because there’s no way he is denying this man anything.

“Of course, I make it all the time!” 

“Great,” James grins even wider. “Next time you’re cooking up dinner, maybe you could bring me some to try? It’s my favorite.”

Mike feels his heart rate pick up, but he doesn’t respond. At his silence, James adds shyly, “I mean, if you want. You don’t have—”

“No, it’s fine!” Mike starts to wonder how much he’ll have to pay Jamie to punch him in the face, because he deserves it at this point. “I’ll make it for you!”

“Thank you so much,” James rests on hand on Mike’s arm gently. “That’s very kind of you.”

Mike nods mutely and James floats off to the other side of the bar, readying his tools and looking entirely too pleased with himself. Mike would normally be distracted with how hot he is, but he has bigger problems on his mind.

 _I bet Barry would punch me for free **,**_ he thinks and the thought is not as comforting as he wanted it to be.

 

 

 

The next day, Mike comes into work an entire three hours early in order to catch Ben alone. The second he walks through the kitchen door Ben’s eyes snap up to him and narrow in suspicion.

Mike’s immediate reaction is an offended, “What?!” before remembering his actual purpose of coming in that day.

“What do you want from me?” Ben asks, looking back down at the sheets of paper he was scribbling across. “Or rather, what did you do this time?”

“I didn’t _do_ anything,” Mike insists. There’s a moment of silence before he adds, “I might have _said_ some things…”

“If you want me to punch you, it’s going to cost at least 30 pounds.”

“No, it’s—” Mike stops, actually registering what Ben said. “Wait, you think your punches are worth that much? Barry will do it for free.”

“Barry would do anything for free as long as you put the words “I bet you won’t” in front of it,” Ben answers and, well, Mike can’t argue with that. Mike is always down for a good wager amongst lads but it’s difficult when Barry doesn’t even wait until there’s money out before doing something stupid.

Ben gathers up his papers in a neat pile and starts collecting ingredients, which reminds Mike once again of the stupid situation he’s gotten himself into.

“Can you make beef…” Mike trails off, _what the hell was that word again?_

Ben scoffs, offended, “Obviously I can cook _beef_ , Michael.”

“No, I mean,” Mike tries again. “Can you make beef… Burlington?”

Ben wants to stay professional and stoic, he really does, but Mike was trying so hard to sound correct and it’s equally cute as it is hilarious. He starts giggling as Mike begins to turn red.

“Look, I don’t speak Italian, okay? Just tell me if you can.” Mike won’t admit it, but he definitely pouts.

“Beef bourguignon?” Ben clarified, and of course he can pronounce it perfectly. Though it’s not nearly as sexy as when James said it. In fact, now it’s just annoying. “It’s French, and yes, I can cook it.”

Ben is back to eying him with suspicion. “Why?”

“ImighthavetoldJamesIcouldcookit.”

Ben doesn’t even ask for clarification, just looks at him with raised eyebrows. Mike sighs, “I told James I know how to cook and he asked for beef blahblah and now he’s expecting me to make it for him.”

Ben starts fully laughing at this point, even though Mike can clearly see him go back to the fridge to pull out some beef.

“You owe me big time for this,” Ben calls from the refrigerator door and Mike remembers now why he never goes to Jamie or Barry with his problems.

 

 

 

Turns out, beef bourgin-whatever takes a long time to cook with all the marinating and _low and slow_ and general chef faff that Mike always tunes out. So, it isn’t until Sunday that Ben is able to hand over a Tupperware container full of meat, vegetables and a dark liquid. Mike doesn’t want to directly ask Barry if James is working that night, but he’s desperately hoping the answer is yes.

Turns out James _wasn’t_ scheduled that night, but he shows up around 8pm anyway, right around the time Barry declares they’re having another meeting that week. The meeting mostly consisted of Barry singing James’ praises and Ben explaining his menu ideas for next month. Mike can’t focus at all, the plastic container on his lap feeling more like a brick with how much his attention is on it.

Right as James is heading home, Mike nearly throws the container at him. James looks surprised but smiles appreciatively.

As he steps out the door he asks, “Did you include the couverture?”

Mike has no idea what he is talking about, obviously, so he just nods dumbly and doesn’t stop until James is out the door.

Yep, he’s definitely fucked.

 

 

 

Mike doesn’t work Monday or Tuesday, but he comes in early again on Wednesday. This time Jamie is in the kitchen with Ben, tasting various things and giving feedback. Ben mostly nods along and adds notes to his now even larger stack of papers. Mike tries to back out of the kitchen quietly but Jamie spots him and waves him in.

“What are you doing in so early?” Jamie asks, handing a deep-fried ball of something over for Mike to eat. He chews slowly to give himself time to come up with an excuse, but Ben beats him to it.

“He’s having boy troubles and needs my help again,” Ben suggests, smirking in Mike’s direction. Jamie is, as always, happy to learn some new gossip.

“Ooh! Who is it?”

Mike swallows as quickly as he can and nearly shouts, “No one! It’s nobody you know, Jamie.”

Ben is still smirking but stays quiet.

“I just wanted to ask you about something, actually.” Mike adds, turning to fully face Ben. “What is cue-ver-chur?”

Ben frowns so Mike tries again. “Coo-veer-chur?”

Ben racks his brain and then asks, “Couverture?”

Mike thinks he really should have studied harder in French class. “Yes, that.”

Jamie decides to interrupt with, “Hey, I studied French too, y’know. You could have asked me!”

“Alright, Jamie,” Mike crosses his arms in front of his chest and raises an eyebrow in challenge. “What does that mean?”

Jamie hems and haws for a few moments before Ben puts him out of his misery, “It means _cover_ in French. Why?”

Mike turns back to him and without thinking says, “James asked if I included it with his food.”

At this moment, Jamie’s face lights up and Mike realizes he made a terrible mistake.

“This is about James!” Jamie shouts with glee, poking at Mike’s crossed arms and generally acting like a child. “Mike has a crush!”

Mike shoves him away but that only seems to encourage Jamie’s childish teasing. Mike can barely hear Ben muttering to himself in confusion before asking, “Are you sure that’s what he said?

“That’s what it sounded like to me,” Mike shrugs.

“Couverture is a kind of chocolate, you’d never include it in a bourguignon,” Ben says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Mike has heard Ben talk about stranger things than chocolate with beef, so he’s not too convinced. “Wait— what did you tell him?”

“I just nodded until he left.”

“Classic Mike flirting technique,” Jamie adds but they continue to ignore him.

Ben looks thoughtful for a moment before he just shrugs and starts pulling things out of the oven, signaling the end of the conversation. If Mike wasn’t used to Ben already, he might be offended. Instead he just walks out, which _does_ offend Jamie, but he can’t bring himself to care.

 

 

 

That evening has them both working again and Mike is on edge as he stacks and re-stacks glasses, trying to stop checking his watch and glancing at the door so much and completely failing. James comes in about ten minutes before they open for the evening, simply smiling at Mike but not saying anything. Mike watches out of the corner of his eye as James puts on his apron, wipes down the bar area in front of him, and neatly arranges his liquor bottles. Mike lasts until the second Barry goes to unlock their front doors before he blurts out, “So?”

James raises an eyebrow and asks back, “So?”

“How was it?” Mike smiles nervously, feeling anxious even though he wasn’t the one who actually cooked the food.

James laughs, “It was delicious, don’t worry.”

Mike grins at him as they both get drawn away by thirsty patrons. Even though they don’t get to talk again for the rest of the night, busy with an unexpected birthday party, Mike can’t keep the smile off his face.

 

 

 

Mike gets home that evening, or rather the next morning, at around three and is just settling into bed when his phone lights up with a text message. _I’m sorry_ , says Jamie and Mike can’t fully contemplate what that means before a message from an unknown number suddenly appears.

_Can I make another meal request? :)_

Jamie is an absolute traitor, Mike thinks, and a meddling idiot as well. Mike sends him that exact message, along with some other profanity-laden thoughts, before he opens up the other text message and attempts to respond.

He wants to seem cool and aloof, but not too indifferent and uncaring. He spends about two minutes writing various messages and eventually settles on: _Sure_

_How are you at desserts?_

Literally worse than I am at making savory foods, he wants to say, but he answers _I’m okay :)_ because he is a man with no sense of self-preservation. 

_Good to hear! :P_

Mike waits another ten minutes, anxiously expecting another message with a dessert name, but nothing comes. He doesn’t want to seem too eager so he goes to sleep without responding. That night he dreams about James’ easy smile and chocolate sauce and activities that are definitely not baking.

 

 

 

This time Mike doesn’t even say hello to Ben before he’s whining at him, “Ben, can you make me a dessert?”

Ben frowns, “I’m pants at desserts and you know this.”

“I’ll give you twenty quid,” Mike suggests, trying to give Ben some sort of puppy-dog-eyes, which he seems to succeed at if Ben’s softening expression was any indication.

“Thirty,” Ben counters. “And you owe me a favor that I can cash in at any time.”

Mike contemplates what heinous thing Ben is going to make him do and wants to say no, but then he remembers the way James had smiled at him last night after telling Mike his dessert request.

“Deal.”

Jamie and Barry wander in at this point, Jamie rolling his eyes when he sees Mike in earlier than usual once again.

Ben starts clearing room at his workstation, depositing cutting boards and bowls into the sink. “What is it this time?”

Barry moves to the corner of the room to make a phone call and Jamie comes over to the two of them, leaning against the fridge as he says, “Don’t tell me you’re helping him again.”

Ben sighs and Mike does his best to ignore him, “He asked for something called ‘mange trois’?”

There’s a contemplative silence between all of them, Ben appearing to rack his brain for any idea about the dessert. When he comes up empty, his forehead scrunches up a little, “I’ve never heard of a ‘mange trois’ before.”

Barry chooses this moment to insert himself into the conversation, “Ménage à trois? Who’s having a ménage à trois?”

“No one is—”

“Mike and James,” Jamie cuts off Mike, a smirk starting to form on his face.

“We’re not—" 

“Cool, can I join?” 

“I’m not—” Mike finally registers what Barry said and looks at him incredulously. His face starts to turn red at the suggestion. “No, you cannot join!”

“But I thought you _weren’t_ having a ménage à trois?” Ben adds, not even looking up from his phone as he searches for whatever Mike agreed to make James.

“I’m _not!_ ” Mike is bright red at this point and nearly pouting, so Ben decides to put him out of his misery.

“I searched around and I can’t find anything about a ‘mange trois’.” Ben flips his phone around to show the google search results page. “I don’t think it’s a real thing.”

Mike frowns but before he can respond, Barry adds, “Guess he’s not as great of a chef as Jamie said he was.”

Mike stops breathing.

“He has a whole degree in culinary arts,” Jamie protests and Mike’s mind is suddenly reeling. James is a chef? An actual real trained chef just like Ben? _What the actual fuck_ , he thinks.

“What the actual fuck?”

 

 

  

Mike plots his revenge. Jamie had eventually shown Mike the copy of James’ resume that he had, with his numerous chef-y qualifications, and Mike suddenly knew that James was fucking with him. Mange trois wasn’t even a real thing! Ben had suggested just coming clean about the whole thing but Mike’s ego was too bruised to even consider it. James was just making a fool out of him, the asshole, and Mike was going to give him a piece of his mind. And James’ devilish good looks were not getting in the way of that!

As James actually comes in that night, Mike reconsiders.

Mike is still annoyed, of course, but James seems to have gotten a haircut and his beard was extra soft-looking and the button-up shirt that he had rolled to his elbows was tight across his biceps. Mike almost decides to forget the whole revenge plan entirely, but James sees the small container in his hands and his face lights up. 

“Is that for me?” He asks, already reaching for the container and Mike hands it off wordlessly. James opens it and peers down at the cookies inside.

“A ‘mange trois’, just as you ordered.”

James looks up at Mike, his expression suitably confused, and then back down at the cookies. “You... made a mange trois?”

“Yep!” Mike grins and gestures towards the container. “Try one.”

James tentatively takes a cookie out and bites it, almost spitting it out as soon as the taste hits his tongue. To his credit, he swallows it, but Mike can’t stop himself from laughing.

“I caught you, asshole!”

James goes red, putting the rest of the cookie back in the container and placing the whole thing on the bar in front of him. He looks so sheepish and awkward it almost starts to make Mike feel bad.

“I’m sorry,” James rubs at his beard which Mike knows is his go-to fidgety gesture. Which is rather distracting because he also looks really hot when he does it.

“Just,” Mike starts, joking tone gone as insecurity starts bleeding through every word. “Why? What was your plan?”

“There wasn’t _any_ plan,” James leans against the bar and looks down at his hands. He’s idly picking at his fingernails and managing to look both extremely anxious and completely closed off. “I could tell you were lying from the start, but I wanted to see what you would do to cover it.”

Mike frowns, but lets James continue.

“Then after,” he trails off, rubs at his beard again. “It was just cute, I guess. And sweet. Nobody has made things for me like that before.”

“You’re the one who’s the chef,” Mike replies, seemingly without any thought. It’s not what he _wants_ to say, but he’s not even sure how to express the mix of disappointment and anticipation that this discovery brought him. James made him look stupid, but his intentions were good. Mike wonders if that’s enough in the end.

“Sorry,” James offers again.

Mike shakes his head a little and laughs. “We’re being really dramatic about this whole fucking thing.”

Mike leans into James’ personal space more than he’s ever dared to before, and the way he has to look up to meet James’ eyes is nothing short of intoxicating.

“Hi, I’m Mike,” Mike gives him a quick grin and a slow, thorough once-over. “Do you come here often?”

James has a lot of thoughts rushing through his head but what he settles on is, “I work here.” 

Mike rolls his eyes and shoves at him, backing off but pulling out his phone from his back pocket.

“Put your damn phone number in, text me after work and we can talk more over dinner.”

James looks confused, “But—” 

“You can make it up to me by cooking all the things you asked me for,” Mike offers. James still feels guilty as fuck but he nods and Mike prances off to the kitchen looked extremely pleased with himself. James is still holding Mike’s phone, an empty contact page open on the screen.

Mike is already in the back when he remembers he already _has_ a contact for James and all the pride he felt at being so smooth disappears. James, however, still puts his number in, makes the contact name “Idiot ❤️” and leaves it on the bar for Mike to pick up later. Any time he calls it says “James or Idiot ❤️” and it’s so perfect, Mike can’t bring himself to delete the extra contact.


End file.
